


You Haven't Lost Me

by Poemwriter90



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8977000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemwriter90/pseuds/Poemwriter90
Summary: There is a tiny mention of Larry in this, and  only at the end.  "Louis!" Harry screamed, sitting up suddenly in bed."Harry? Harry, love, are you okay?" Louis called out, before bursting into their room."Louis, oh my God, Louis, you're here." Harry sobbed. Louis moved quickly towards Harry, wrapping him in his arms, and holding him close. He gently rubbed Harry's back, whispering that he was going to be okay."It felt so real, Louis," Harry whispered. “I thought….I thought that I’d lost you.”"You haven’t lost me, Harry. What was it, love?" Louis inquired."It was us. I was a soldier during World War Two, and I met you in the woods….you couldn’t talk, at first, but then you started to. We were together, walking into a town, when....when we were shot." Harry gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. Louis stilled, his hand freezing in the motion of rubbing Harry's back. “You remembered.” Louis gasped.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Blood, violence, death, guns, nightmares.

Harry slung his rifle over his shoulder, the wood of the barrel thumping against his back. He began to trudge through the sodden mud, the smell of the pines in the forest he was in invading his nostrils, the sharp needles brushing against his shirt, occasionally poking through to his skin. He had been out here for days, looking for his men, searching for any sign that they survived. Looking up at the sky, Harry noted how rapidly dark was approaching, as it always did during this time of year.  
He took a few more steps, before setting down his pack and leaning against a large tree, pulling his thin coat closer to him, and preparing for another frigid night. He wanted to light a fire, but knew that doing so could be a fatal mistake; he had no idea who else was out here with him. Looking up, he noted the glimmering stars appearing between the tree tops, barely visible through the thick branches. Harry drifted off to sleep, the biting cold doing little to keep him awake.  
When he awoke, he was disoriented and wondering what had woken him. It was then he heard it; the sound of branches cracking, as if someone or something was coming near him. He moved quietly, standing and reaching for his rifle, sighting along the barrel and waiting for whatever was moving through the forest to come into his line of sight. What he wasn't expecting was a pale, unnaturally thin, young man to come stumbling through the trees. He stumbled, falling to his knees. It was then that he saw Harry, and stared up at him, his eyes focused directly on his. Harry lowered his rifle, taking in the man before him. 

"Are you hurt?" He inquired. The young man didn't answer, just bit his lip and shook his head. 

"Are you German?" Harry asked. He quickly shook his head, almost frantically, stopping only when Harry reached a hand towards him. At the movement, he fell backwards, landing on the ground with a painful sounding thump, backing up quickly, his fingers scratching the dirt in his haste to get away. 

"I'm sorry! I won't hurt you, I swear," Harry quietly said, leaning his rifle against the tree he'd been sleeping on. "Are you hungry?" 

The man nodded, and Harry reached into his pack and brought out some food, handing it to him. He took it, staring at it like he thought it would disappear, before pushing it into his mouth, frantically chewing, as if it had been months since his last meal. 

"Are you going anywhere specific?" Harry inquired. The young man shook his head, before the little color that was in his face drained from it. He hunched over, retching, the little food that he had eaten coming up. Harry carefully moved towards the man, supporting him as he started to collapse. He leaned him gently against the tree, watching him as he took deep breaths, gulping in air as if he had been deprived of it. 

"It's been a while since you've eaten, hasn't it?" Harry inquired. He nodded, leaning his head back against the tree. 

"Can you tell me your name?" He asked. This was met with another head shake, and Harry bit his lower lip. 

"Can you write your name?" Harry questioned. The young man opened his eyes, looking up at Harry, before nodding. Harry dug into his pack, pulling out some paper and a pencil. Harry handed to him, watching his shaking fingers wrap around the pencil. 

'I'm Louis' He wrote, before looking up at Harry.

"Hullo, Louis. I'm Harry," He murmured, watching the way Louis was staring at the pencil and paper, as if he hadn't seen either of those things in years. "I'm a part of the British Army."

Louis nodded, gesturing towards Harry's jacket. Harry glanced down at his coat, nodding as he remembered that it had the marking of his unit on it. He looked up and took in Louis's nondescript clothing, the threadbare shirt that was all but leached of color, and the tattered, dark coloured pants. He wondered where Louis was from, what had happened to him, and why he wouldn't speak, or if he couldn’t speak. Harry thought that he might be military, but he wasn’t sure if he was part of the French, German, or any of the other groups involved in the war. 

"Can you speak?" Harry inquired. Louis nodded, before shrugging and furrowing his brow, looking nervous. 

"Has it been awhile since you've spoken?" Harry asked. Louis nodded, biting his lower lip. 

"That's okay." Harry quietly said, sitting and leaning against a tree next to Louis's. He stayed awake and alert until he heard Louis's breathing grow quieter, before drifting off to sleep himself. 

When Harry next awoke, the birds were singing around him, and Louis was nowhere to be seen.

“Louis? Louis, where are you?” Harry stood, frantically looking around. There was a splash a few yards away, and Harry took off in that direction. He found Louis, ankle deep in a stream, his pants rolled up and a fish in each hand. 

"How....how did you catch those?" Harry gasped. Louis turned to look at him, a small smile on his face, before mimicking how he had caught the fish. 

"Oh. That’s impressive, Louis." Harry said, holding out his hand as Louis moved towards the bank. Louis placed a fish in it, which was not what Harry was expecting. He flinched at the cold invertebrate being placed in his hand, almost dropping it. Harry shifted the fish to his other hand, holding his empty hand out for Louis to take. Louis frowned slightly, before reaching out and grasping Harry's hand. He stepped out of the water, quickly letting go of Harry's hand, as if he'd been burned. Harry bit his lower lip, wondering what Louis was doing out here, and if he was going to stay with him. The two of them started back towards the trees where they had been sleeping, the fish clutched in Louis's hands. 

"Louis. If you don't mind me asking....where are you headed?" Harry inquired. Louis's back stiffened, and Harry regretted asking. 

"Never mind, it's fine." Harry murmured. Louis continued on, his body posture stiff. He set down the fish on Harry's pack, a move that made Harry grimace, and started to gather sticks. Putting the sticks together, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of matches. Reaching into his other pocket, Louis took out a small knife, and proceeded to clean the fish. He left them cooking in the fire, and moved to sit against a tree. Harry watched in surprise, wondering where Louis had picked up how to do all this. When the fish were done, Louis handed Harry one, before carefully starting to eat his. Harry carefully ate his fish, stopping to take a drink, before offering his canteen to Louis. Louis took it, taking a quick drink, the water running out of the corners of his mouth. He handed it back to Harry, and then continued to eat. When they were done, Louis carefully kicked at the fire with his worn boots, bringing his boot down and stamping on the wood, which broke easily under his shoe. The two of them traversed through the forest, stopping when they saw that the trees thinned out and then ended, and a small town was rising in front of them. They proceeded into the town, the cobble of the street feeling unfamiliar after the pine needles underneath their feet. Going through this town, they re-entered the forest. The silence in the trees was unnerving, and Harry wondered where the birds that would usually be around were. 

"Louis....have you tried to talk recently?" Harry inquired. Louis quickly shook his head, glancing up at Harry before looking back down. 

"Want to try with me?" He asked. Louis nodded, and Harry stopped, dropping his pack at the base of a tree. Louis bit his lower lip, his tongue darting out and wetting them.

“Har….” Louis started to say, before he broke off, coughing. Harry silently handed him his canteen, patiently waiting for Louis to try again.

“Harry,” He murmured, before his lips moved into a smile. “Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well, Louis. Where are you from?” Harry inquired.

“Bath. What town are you from?” Louis asked.

“Worcestershire,” Harry replied, as they continued walking. “So….since you’re from England, and you’re all the way out here, that means that you were part of a unit. What happened to them?”

“We, we were on our way to the Front, and we were attacked. We didn't even see them coming. My men….I tried to help them, but I couldn’t. I watched them die. Our attackers….they thought I was dead, so they left. They just left us there, without giving us proper burials.” Louis whispered, biting his lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Louis. I’m so, so sorry.” Harry quietly said, his thoughts on his men, who he was sure were lost, or captured. They continued in silence, stopping only when night started to fall. 

When Harry and Louis woke the next morning, they had a quick breakfast of fish that Louis caught from a nearby stream, and bread from Harry’s pack, before continuing through the forest. Harry would pause every so often, as he heard rustling behind him or the crack of a branch breaking. Whenever he turned to investigate, there was nothing there. They walked a little further, and saw a town ahead.

“Look, Harry. A town. Maybe we’re in France, or England!” Louis exclaimed, turning back towards him. Harry nodded, smiling brightly at the joy in Louis’s face. They continued a while longer, Louis’s pace faster than before. They were just about to step onto the cobblestone of the street when Harry heard a sharp crack that made him wince with how close it was, and watched in horror as Louis pitched forward slightly. He saw the blood leaking from Louis's coat, but didn't have time to react before there was a painful burning sensation in his side, and, when he looked down, red was blossoming on his shirt. 

"Harry. I’m sorry." Louis whispered, his face turned towards him, before collapsing.

"No! No, Louis. Please." Harry cried, throwing himself towards him. Harry collapsed on his knees next to Louis, taking the other man's hand in his. His eyes focused on Louis' face, his eyes filling with tears as Louis coughed slightly, and blood ran out of the corners of his mouth.

"It's going to be okay, Harry." Louis murmured, gently squeezing Harry's hand in his, before his eyes drifted shut. 

\----

"Louis!" Harry screamed, sitting up suddenly in bed.

"Harry? Harry, love, are you okay?" Louis called out, before bursting into their room.

"Louis, oh my God, Louis, you're here." Harry sobbed. Louis moved quickly towards Harry, wrapping him in his arms, and holding him close. He gently rubbed Harry's back, whispering that he was going to be okay.

"It felt so real, Louis," Harry whispered. “I thought….I thought that I’d lost you.”

"You haven’t lost me, Harry. What was it, love?" Louis inquired.

"It was us. I was a soldier during World War Two, and I met you in the woods….you couldn’t talk, at first, but then you started to. We were together, walking into a town, when....when we were shot." Harry gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. Louis stilled, his hand freezing in the motion of rubbing Harry's back. 

“You remembered.” Louis gasped. 

“What? What do you mean?” Harry inquired, pushing himself away slightly. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, let me explain. Just…that wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. A memory of our life. We….we were supposed to meet later on during that life, and live longer, but things changed. I’ve been waiting for you to remember.” Louis murmured.

“Our past life? What, no, that’s not….that’s not possible.” Harry gasped.

“It is. I promise, love, I’m telling you the truth. This isn’t the first time, or even the second. We were together when the Ancient Egyptians were around, worshipping their gods, and building their pyramids. We lived when the Greeks were there, building their temples and statues to their gods, and when the Romans came in and started to build their temples. We saw the temple that Marcus Agrippa built to the gods. We watched Ancient Egypt fall, and, eventually, London rise,” Louis explained, continuing to rub his hand on Harry’s back. “Do you remember the Medici’s? We were there during the Italian Renaissance. We saw Da Vinci, and the beautiful works that he did. Do you remember seeing the Sistine Chapel, almost immediately after it was painted?” 

“I’m sorry, I wish I did. But, that’s….why? How? Why would we relive our lives over and over again?” Harry inquired. 

“I don’t know, completely. But I do know that something happens. Every time we meet, instead of living out our lives together, something occurs, and one, or both of us, dies.” Louis quietly said. 

“Every time?” Harry inquired. Louis nodded, and Harry bit his lower lip. 

“Why would….why would that happen to us? Meeting each other, and then losing each other? Never getting to live out our lives, together? That’s so….that’s so cruel.” Harry quietly said. 

“I don’t think that it’s meant to happen that way. I think…I think that things go wrong.” Louis quietly said. 

“Things go wrong…” Harry murmured, carefully standing. “I’ll be right back, Louis.” 

Louis watched as Harry left the room, a feeling of dread growing in his stomach. Harry was gone for only a few minutes before a sharp noise, one the Louis recognized, echoed through the house. Louis raced down stairs, his eyes falling on Harry, who was lying, sprawled on the kitchen floor, a growing pool of blood underneath him. Movement caught his eye, and he saw someone running out their back door, dressed all in black.

“Louis,” Harry gasped, his hand pressed to his abdomen. Louis kneeled next to Harry, ignoring the blood that was soaking his pants. 

“No, Harry, please. Please, love, stay.” Louis’s voice cracked. 

“I’m so sorry, Louis. I…I love you. I just….I’m glad it’s me, and not you.” Harry quietly said, his eyes drifting shut. Louis let out a sob, squeezing his eyes shut, tears falling down his face.

\----

Harry darted awake, the cold of the floor a familiar, grounding feeling. He thought back to what he had been dreaming-or, rather, remembering. He remembered Louis holding him, explaining to him that it was a memory of the life they had lived together. He remembered his last glimpse of Louis face, the pain and loss in his eyes, and how much he wanted to take that away.

Harry was torn from his memories as the doors to his cell were pushed open, and a young, tousled haired man was pushed inside. He stumbled, crashing painfully to the ground. He lay there until the guards left, huddled in on himself, fear evident on his face. Harry gaped in shock, wondering how Louis could’ve ended up in here, alongside him. 

"Louis." He murmured, pushing himself to his feet. 

"Do I....do I know you?" Louis inquired. 

"You don't recognise me?" Harry asked. 

"No." Louis hesitantly responded, doubt visible in his eyes, taking a seat on the cold floor.

"Let me tell you about me? About us?” Harry inquired. Louis nodded, and Harry leaned sat, leaning against the wall. 

“It was during World War Two. You used to be a soldier, in the British Army, and I....Well...I used to be a baker. But the army needed soldiers more than they needed bakers. That was in another life.” Harry murmured.


End file.
